


Home (For Christmas)

by eretria



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 00:51:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eretria/pseuds/eretria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"This was what people would call bad luck. An unfortunate turn of events, maybe. A royal pain in the arse, Innocent might have said. Looking back, though, Robbie Lewis had to admit that he could hardly have wished for a better Christmas." </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home (For Christmas)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Enednoviel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enednoviel/gifts).



> I promised Enednoviel a story for Christmas. And since Christmastime, as I have been informed yesterday by my choir conductor, covers the time until Candlemas (February 2nd) or at the very least (for protestants) until the Sunday after Epiphany, I'm going to wipe my brow in relief and say with a really straight face: Merry Christmas, sweetie!  
> Also, I'm taking a liberty here and am using the big snowfall of February 2009 as inspiration, snowfall heavy enough that it actually saw roads closing down in parts of the UK. I am also shamelessly taking it for granted that Oxford(shire) is no better than Berlin and its surroundings: Get one snowflake in a vertical position and people start to panic. ;o)
> 
> Thank you to my lovely beta-readers, murron and Auburn.

This was what people would call bad luck. An unfortunate turn of events, maybe. A royal pain in the arse, Innocent might have said.

Looking back, though, Robbie Lewis had to admit that he could hardly have wished for a better Christmas.

He leaned back in his chair, looked at the snow gently falling in the soft glow of the streetlamp outside and smiled as he remembered.

***

"Oh, Dad, don't tell me – "

Lynn didn't need to finish the sentence and Robbie didn't need to answer. He did so anyway. "Sorry, love. Looks like the roads are already blocked here. You know how it goes. Give Oxfordshire snow and everyone runs around like chickens with their heads chopped off."

Lynn's smile was audible over the line. "A foot of snow is not something they usually have to deal with." She breathed out a sigh that sent a crackling burst of static through the receiver. "We were all looking forward to seeing you," she said, her voice darkened by disappointment.

Robbie rubbed the back of his neck. "I know love, so was I. I'll come as soon as the roads are cleared, all right?"

"I made Singin' Hinnies."

He frowned. "Now you're just being cruel."

"And Pan Haggerty for this evening."

It was a good thing he'd eaten earlier, or she would have heard his stomach rumble through the line at the mention of his favourite dish. "Just like your mum…," Robbie trailed off.

Lynn heaved another sigh. "Yeah. That was the idea."

"I really am sorry, love," Robbie said. He was probably the one most disappointed, for he'd chosen a lot of Christmas presents this year and he had a feeling he'd done very well. "I couldn't leave any earlier and by the time I had everything packed, they had closed the motorway. Haven't had this much snow since the big snowstorm in February of 2009, they're saying."

"Yeah." Another sigh came through the line, then Robbie could all but feel Lynn shaking herself. "All right, I'll keep the food for you and we'll just do Christmas a bit later this year. I'd rather have you safely at home than worry about you on the road."

"Don't wait on my account – " Robbie started, but was interrupted immediately.

"Dad? Seriously." He would swear that she had at least one hand on her hip right this moment.

"All right, all right." Robbie tucked the phone between his chin and shoulder and raised both hands in surrender.

"I'll see you when the roads are clear, then?" Lynn asked.

"That you will, love. That you will."

"Merry Christmas, Dad. I love you."

"I love you, too. Merry Christmas, Lynn. Give Thomas a kiss and don't let him eat all the sweets."

"He's half a year old, Dad." There was fond exasperation in Lynn's voice.

"Haven't I read that babies can taste these things in their mother's milk? Then I should probably tell _you_ not to eat all the sweets."

There was a static-filled pause, then Lynn asked in a wry tone, "When has that ever worked?"

Robbie laughed. "Never."

"Bye, Dad."

"Bye, love."

***

That was it, then. Stranded at home for Christmas with no Christmas tree and only very little decoration. It was a little sad, really.

And if he was honest with himself, after looking forward to spending the holidays with his family, he really didn't look forward to spending Christmas all alone.

He wasn't old enough to go into one of the Christmas meetings for elderly people with no more relatives and he wouldn't impose himself on any of his colleagues, not at this time on Christmas Eve.

He was sure that Laura would have given him refuge if she'd been home, but she'd gone to visit relatives in Scotland. Lucky for her, she'd left a few days before the big snow hit.

Hathaway was busy with his band, and really, even if he'd have been home, it would have seemed strange to Robbie to just show up on his doorstep and invite himself for Christmas. He was rather certain the lad wouldn't mind, but Robbie felt like that would be overstepping some invisible boundary. Christmas was for families, not for spending time with your old governor who was stranded and needed company.

So, what did that leave?

Really nothing but a Christmas Eve service. 

A strange time to decide to go a service after so many years. Maybe even a little too convenient. After all, he hadn't been to a service since Val died.

But they'd always gone to a midnight communion on Christmas Eve together.

Robbie pulled the newspaper closer and checked the listing for Christmas services. He'd never be able to set a foot inside Christ Church College on Christmas Eve, the tickets for the carol service had sold like a wildfire as soon as they were offered, but if he remembered correctly, St. Aldates offered a midnight service. He ran his index finger down the list and, sure enough, found a listing for St. Aldates midnight communion.

Robbie looked at his index finger still resting next to the church's name. After a thoughtful moment, he took it away and rubbed it against his thumb, smearing black printer's ink.

In the background, the radio announced that the motorways would be closed all through Christmas Eve night and well into Christmas day.

Robbie heaved a sigh and looked back at the newspaper.

It was better than to sit at home and watch the telly, right? Especially on a day like this.

A quick glance outside showed him that it was still snowing.

Well, then. He was going to need a hat.

***

By the time he reached St. Aldates Church, it was five to eleven and it was clear at first sight that he would have no chance to get inside the church. People were queuing to get in, and the students at the entrance already looked a bit panicked underneath the welcoming smiles. A cacophony of various languages met Robbie; the church's reputation of being a church for all nations seemed to be true.

Robbie fell back a little. In hindsight, it probably had been a stupid idea to try and go to a service in one of Oxford's busiest churches on Christmas Eve.

He contemplated popping into St. Aldates cop shop for a cup of coffee but decided against it. He was spending enough time in police stations and with bad cop shop coffee as it was, there was no need to do ruin his stomach on Christmas as well.

The snow was falling heavily, and umbrellas were being opened to his left and right. It was a strange sight much more fitting for a grey November afternoon than a snowy Christmas.

By the time Robbie had turned up his collar and focused his attention back on the queue in front of the church, something had moved. Several students were bringing speakers outside, others were handing out candles. A crackly announcement came from the speakers to not leave but stay for the service that would be broadcasted outside the church as well. For those unable to get inside the church, hot drinks would be offered in a few minutes.

A smiling student with a crown of snow on her curly dark hair offered Robbie a candle as well and the gentleman next to him moved his umbrella so that Robbie was sheltered from the snow a little better. The church bells began to sound, and the organ began to play, reminding him of Christmases past. 

It was then that he decided to stay. Yes, it was a bit nippy and he definitely would have been warmer at home with a beer, but he also would have been alone. This crowd, though he knew no one, was cheerful and excited enough to distract him from the discomforts and let himself be carried along with the festive spirit and the mystery of Christmas Eve.

The choir's rendition of _Carol of the Bells_ sent a hush through the growing crowd and a pleasant shiver down Robbie's spine. To his left and right, people were looking at the candles or had their eyes closed and their faces turned up. In the warm lamplight, Robbie saw snowflakes fall on eyelashes and noses; weightless, silent.

He missed most of the vicar's words because people around him kept translating, but as led by some excellent conductor, they joined perfectly whenever a carol was being sung.

They had just segued from a sermon into _Angels We Have Heard on High_ when Robbie felt someone bump into him from behind. The gentleman next to him moved to the side which left Robbie bereft of the umbrella's protection. Snow crept underneath his coat collar. He would have turned around and scowled but found himself too fascinated by the new arrival's warm baritone that smoothly delivered the _Gloria in Excelsis Deo_.

It was nice to have someone with an excellent singing voice to make up for a lot of wannabe Pavarottis and Netrebkos around him.

The song was coming to a finish and Robbie turned around in order to compliment the gentleman, found his gaze travelling up a dark woollen coat and a far too tall body… and froze in mid-movement. He blinked for a long second, contemplated fate, then caught himself and said, "Isn't this the wrong congregation, Sergeant?"

Hathaway looked just as surprised as Robbie felt. "Sir? I thought you were with Lynn and her family?"

"We all did," Robbie said.

"Then what – " Hathaway stopped in mid-sentence, probably afraid of being rude.

"What am I doing here?" Robbie asked with a smile.

"If you don't mind me asking."

"Would it stop you if I did mind?"

Hathaway inclined his head, lifted his eyebrows and kept wisely quiet. It was a facetious non-answer, but Robbie knew that despite the cheeky front, Hathaway would indeed have respected his wish had he voiced it.

A couple of people around him had begun to give them pointed glares and Robbie lowered his voice when he answered, "Later, eh?"

The service continued and Robbie once again found himself fascinated by Hathaway's voice rising into the night. Robbie wondered if Hathaway had ever been in a choir. The image of a young James Hathaway, golden-haired and serious-faced as he sang his heart out – the solo part, definitely the solo part - like a wee cherub made Robbie smile.

As the service came to a finish and the final carol was being sung, Robbie noticed that the students had handed out more candles and that all around them, people began to light them. Someone turned off the lights illuminating the church and a whisper ran through the crowd. 

Robbie's heart opened wide when he looked around and found himself in a sea of candles. Flickering, dancing weightlessly, illuminating hands and faces of every colour and age and gender. There wasn't one that didn't wear a smile of some kind, even if some of those smiles were paired by the odd tear.

It was as if for that short amount of time, people were close to each other, as if the world, though cold and unpleasant when it came to weather, was warmer and gentler here. A silly old codger thing to think, Robbie chided himself. Had he finally reached the age to get sentimental like that?

He missed Lynn and his grandson and Mark and, as always on Christmas, he missed Val with a sudden, piercing ache that surpassed the pain that was a constant companion in his life. He blinked against tears that rose unbidden. It was over as quickly as it had come, though, because all of a sudden, Robbie felt as though she was close to him, smiling at him from behind the gentle glow of a candle nearby. He smiled back at the mirage and murmured, "Merry Christmas, bonny lass."

The bells around them began to ring, greeting Christmas at a particularly joyful volume and Val's image dissipated. Robbie found himself carried along by the pull of the crowd and lost Hathaway in the sudden hubbub that was the church emptying after the service. 

He found him again, leaning against the wall outside St. Aldates' cop shop, hunched over against the cold. He had one hand stuck under his armpit while he still held the candle in the other.

"Loitering?" Robbie asked when he reached Hathaway.

"With intent," Hathaway nodded.

"I think we both haven't answered our respective questions. Do you want to go first?"

Hathaway rolled his shoulders, something between a shrug and a shiver. "My heating broke."

"So you came to stand outside a church in the cold?" Robbie frowned. Not even in Hathaway's convoluted religious mind could that possibly make sense.

Hathaway gave him a pointed look that was just one shade shy of insubordination. "I was on my way to the station." He gestured toward the thinning crowd. "Decided to walk, and got held up by – " Hathaway stopped in the middle of what Robbie was sure would have been either a self-deprecating or cynical comment. To his surprise, Hathaway didn't voice it, though, but said instead, "The candles drew my attention."

They watched a group of students pass them by, holding their hands in front of their candles like shields against the wind and the snow. The bells were still ringing, drowning out the out-of-tune carol one of the lads was humming.

"The roads were closed when I'd finished packing," Robbie explained without needing another prompt. "Our Lynn was quite disappointed."

"I'm sorry, Sir. I know how much you'd been looking forward to spending Christmas with your family."

"Yeah, well," Robbie shrugged, feigning acceptance when he still didn't feel it. "Can't be helped."

Slowly, the groups of people passing them grew less frequent and their candles burned down. Hathaway's hand was beginning to get a faint blue tint.

Robbie nudged his shoulder against Hathaway's arm. "Unless you have any matches to sell, I suggest you get out of the cold."

Hathaway shook himself from what appeared to be a deep contemplation on the meaning of life or possibly snow and said, "I'll head over to the station, then."

Robbie pinned him with a glare. "Don't be daft, man. You're half frozen and you're not spending Christmas at the station." If there was one thing Robbie was sure about, it was that. He wasn't going to have the lad sleep in the office. Not on Christmas. "We spend too much time there as is. Let's just find a curry and head home."

"Home," Hathaway echoed, uncomprehending.

"Yes, James," Robbie said, willing Hathaway to understand but unwilling to spell it out. "Home."

A gust of wind extinguished the candle in Hathaway's hand and send liquid wax spilling over half-frozen skin. Hathaway winced and shook his hand.

Robbie gave him a fond look. "Coming?"

"Coming," Hathaway agreed.

From the shadow of a corner, Robbie imagined he saw Val smiling at him.

***

Robbie was carrying empty aluminium containers with smears of yellow and red (Vindaloo and Korma respectively) from his living room to the kitchen at 1 a.m. on Christmas morning. Something was very, very odd in his life, he decided.

"I still don't know how you managed to get us takeaway this late on Christmas," Hathaway commented from the sofa.

"It pays to have contacts on Cowley Road," Robbie called back over the splashing of water as he rinsed their forks.

Out in the living room, he saw Hathaway grin in reply.

He looked more relaxed now, Robbie thought. Some of that melancholy he'd seen on Hathaway's – James, as Hathaway had insisted on earlier – face outside the church earlier had left. With his feet just sock-clad, his legs drawn up onto the sofa and his chin resting on the sofa's back as he watched Robbie rummage around in the kitchen, he looked painfully young and reminded Robbie of both his children all of a sudden. They'd come down the stairs early on Christmas morning as well, usually right in the middle of the night to see if Father Christmas had been there already and to get to open just one package already.

James had that self-same look now, though Robbie was sure he didn't realise it. And Robbie had nothing to offer in way of a present apart from a bottle of beer. Which he would not stoop to offering. To drink together, yes. To give as a present, no.

As he looked outside to see if it was still snowing, his gaze slid past the key hooks in the hallway and an idea began to grow.

He contemplated his idea for a few more seconds while he grabbed two beers out of the fridge, then decided to go through with it before his inner censor could stop him. Robbie left the beers on the counter, walked to the key hooks and closed his hand around the key. He expected it to feel heavier, but it didn't. Just the same silly old piece of metal. And it was just a silly old sentimental gesture, wasn't it?

Better treat it like one, then.

"Well, since I didn't expect to see you until the new year and Amazon hasn't delivered your present yet, I think I'll have to improvise a little," Robbie said as he sat back down on the sofa.

He clenched his hand around the key one last time, then placed it on the table in front of James. "Merry Christmas."

James blinked at it in uncomfortable silence for much longer than Robbie liked. "Sir, I – "

That tone didn't say embarrassed, Robbie noted with relief. That tone read overwhelmed.

"Don't, James," Robbie interrupted him. "Just do me a favour and accept it for what it is." He snapped his gaze to James' face. "And if you make me spell it out, I will demote you."

"You really can't," James grinned. "But I won't."

He stared at the key for a couple of silent seconds, then a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"What?" Robbie asked. "What's so funny?"

James inclined his head. "You'll know when you open my gift to you."

"And you won't tell me what it is."

The grin grew wider. "Naturally."

Robbie rolled his eyes. "Then pour us a whisky, man, before I get maudlin."

And James did.

***

When Robbie came into the office on January 2nd, Hathaway wasn't in, but Robbie found a small, dark green box sitting on his desk.

He lifted the lid and the first thing he saw was a note that said, "GMTA. Not like that's new."

*

Inside the box was an unfamiliar key.

It was a long time before Robbie stopped smiling.

Fin

* GMTA - Great Minds Think Alike 


End file.
